


Maiden, Mother, Crone

by JackBivouac



Series: Reign of Winter [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bestiality, Bondage, Centaurs, Clothed Sex, Crotch Rope, Double Penetration, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Interspecies Sex, Multi, Other, Plants, Rape, Size Difference, Tentacle Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-01 00:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18325370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: The adventures of Gen, the Red Rider





	1. The Maiden Is a Bitch

The mesa, surrounded on all sides by vertiginous cliffs, offered a stark, dizzying view of miles upon miles of tundra wilderness. Arctic winds blew across the mesa, stirring the hardy grasses against the sleeping form of a woman.

She wore a red bodysuit patterned with scales in a darker shade. The fabric, woven by magic, was light but tough and difficult to stain or tear. It hugged every luscious curve of her voluptuous body.

Gen awoke with a sneeze, the grass tickling her nostrils. “AH-CHOO!”

She clambered to her feet as fast as she could, the element of surprise most assuredly lost. But there was nothing else upon the mesa save a small copse of trees at the far edge. Her shoulders relaxed, then tightened again at the sight of the roots.

Dozens of bones littered the ground before the Grove, some so ancient that they'd become knotted in the roots. The worst bone-root offender was an eighteen-foot witch tree. One might've mistaken it for a Willow if not for its woman-shaped trunk.

“Ahhh, shit,” griped Gen. She looked from the grove on one side to the mesa's sheer drop on the other. She let out a long-suffering sigh. At least she magically didn't feel cold anymore.

Gen trampled her way across the cold climate grasses toward the copse and its evil witch tree. She froze at the rustle of leaves.

A beautiful, barefoot maiden with long, flaxen hair wearing a homespun dress swung down from the branches of the witch tree. She landed lightly, the only sound a youthful giggle.

“Who are you supposed to be? Baba Yaga's Crimson Whore?” tittered Caigreal.

“Yeah, on a good day,” snarked Gen. “But today? You're looking at her Scarlet Assassin.”

The Red Rider held her hand out open at her side. “Greatsword, to me!”

There was not a single puff of magic smoke.

“Shit!” Gen patted down her bodysuited curves for any hint of a pocket. “Where are the instructions on this fucking thing?”

Caigreal, granddaughter of Baba Yaga and ally of the usurper queen Elvanna, rolled her eyes. “Prince of Pain, this is embarrassing. Witch tree, just fuck her up.”

The tree’s shapely hips swayed, an eager moan sighing from its branches. The ropey, wooden lengths lashed out at the stunted rider.

Gen leaped and danced out of their path with her newly enhanced reflexes, but she was still too new at this. A branch snapped shut around her heel, yanking her leg out from under her.

She was jerked into the air. More branches followed, seizing her legs, her waist, her arms, her neck. They bent her legs at the knee and spread them open, still upside down. The branches bent her arms and lashed her wrists together, bound to the back of her neck.

“Get off me!” Gen roared, thrashing against her woody bindings.

They constricted instead, biting into her bodysuited flesh. Three more branches slithered out from the witch tree’s canopy. Each ended in the shape of a large, wooden dick.

“No! No!” screamed Gen as the dick branches surged down at her.

Caigreal giggled darkly and cartwheeled away into the heart of the copse. The first dick shoved through Gen’s lips, plugging her screaming mouth and throat. The other two prodded at her bodysuited crotch.

The red fabric stretched but didn’t tear. Undeterred, the witch tree’s dicks shoved with the stretching fabric into Gen’s ass and pussy. The bodysuit squeezed taut and hard on her cunt and taint.

Gen gurgled and choked on the dick plugging her screaming mouth., her body writhing outward from her penetrated and pulverized crotch. Her shafts, stuffed with bodysuited dick and her own surrounding flesh, were utterly helpless to their immediate outbreak of protesting spasms.

Gen’s back arched upside down in the wooden grip of the witch tree. The high-pitched whines of a cumming bitch whistled from her nostrils. Her clenching shafts squeezed even tighter on their clothed rapists.

The frantically swaying witch tree moaned back. Hot, sticky cum-sap burst from their dicks into the rough, tight pockets of Gen’s ass and pussy and into her mouth. 

The smell of resin lanced into her nose, drawing tears. The syrupy seed was bitter and nectar sweet. If pressed for the truth, Gen enjoyed swallowing pump after pump of the witch tree’s cum.

With a final, emptying shake, the witch tree’s branches fell slack. Gen dropped from their hold. She had no hope of landing like Caigreal, but she managed to twist her body to land flat on her face instead of on her head and neck.

“Oof,” grunted the Red Rider. She crawled onto her hands and knees. Thanks to her enhanced strength and stamina, neither shook despite the merciless tree-rape she’d just endured.

The witch trees branches remained still, no different from a willow’s. Gen braced her hands and heels in the grass. She sprang like a runner at gunshot past the tree and into grove.

No snaking branch caught her this time. Gen’s mouth spread in a grim grin. Caigreal would get hers. She swore it by the syrupy cum wicking out from between her bodysuited legs.


	2. Attack of the Fey

Hidden in the grove was a staircase of roots down into the stone heart of the mesa. Gen stalked down the stairs into a broad, natural cavern that arked upward, forming a narrow crown high above. At the center of the cave stood a ring of six fungus-covered menhirs, their inward faces carved with women, their bellies swollen in various degrees of pregnancy.

Gen slowed, treading cautiously to the edge of the ring. Caigreal sat on her knees at its center. Though her clothes hadn’t changed, her face and body had aged by at least two decades into a matronly fullness. Her belly swelled under the homespun dress, her skin and snowy hair luminous in pregnancy.

Caigreal didn’t open her eyes as Gen stepped into the ring of menhirs. She didn’t have to. Gen’s shaking hands audibly scuffed the sides of her bodysuit. Yes, she had it out for Caigreal, but she couldn’t kill a pregnant woman.

“You really are a fool, aren’t you?” Caigreal chuckled, her magically aged voice lower and husky.

“You’re the fool,” Gen growled in weak retort. She foolishly failed to notice the six gnome-sized fey gliding out from the menhirs.

These knobby-kneed korreds had thick, wild manes of hair and beard so large that they hid most of their spindly bodies from view. This hair writhed and twitched like a living nest of tangled antennae.

The korreds drew weighted ropes of their living hair out from the nest. They threw the stone-balled end at Gen. The ropes lashed her arms to her chest, her wrists to her hips, her knees and ankles together, as well as bashing her in the chest, gut, and legs with the stone weights.

Gen grunted and collapsed into the ring’s fungal carpet. Caigreal rose stately to her bare feet as the excitedly chittering fey staked their ends of the living rope down into the ground. Writhe and squirm as she might, the weighted bonds crushed Gen tight and held her pinned face-down against the leathery fungi.

“Bitch!” Gen screamed. In her position, she was unable to look far enough behind her shoulder to see more of Caigreal than her white-skinned feet.

“Trust me, I’m the least of your worries.” The smirk was audible in the woman’s voice. She strode out from the menhir ring, waving a permissive hand at the chittering korreds without looking back. “Have fun, little ones.”

The fey needed no further encouragement. They swarmed their helplessly bound captive, screeching excitedly over her screams. The korreds parted their hair over their tiny dicks and rubbed their flaccid flesh to stiffness on Gen’s head and her bodysuited buttocks and thighs.

The two at her head plunged one dick into her upward-facing ear. The other shoved their entire cock and balls into her shrieking mouth, choking and gagging her in a single thrust.

The four at her buttocks ran two more living ropes around each thigh and up into her crotch. They sawed them in opposite directions. Gen broke into wild but useless thrashing and jerks as the ropes dug into and burned the sensitive skin of her ass, taint, and snatch. The korreds continued until they’d sheared a rent through the crotch of her magic bodysuit.

They bound the rough, living ropes tight over her hips, yanking the biting cords deep into her rawed, reddened slit and the cleave of her rounded ass. The small fey clambered between her legs, merely pushing and pulling the ropes to shove two dicks into each her burning holes.

Gen screamed her tortured sobs into the cock and balls gagging her. Her muffled pain was an aphrodisiac to the wicked fey. All six pounded her even harder, their dicks beating the walls of her ear, throat, cunt, and anus.

Her ravaged walls swelled tight against their raping cocks with wounded heat. The squeeze of her double-stuffed ass and pussy forced the korreds’ pistoning cocks together for even tighter rub.

All six fey howled like chimpanzees in rut. They exploded their incompatible seed into Gen’s raped ear, throat, cunt, and anus, wracking her body with soundless, quivering sobs.

They pumped her full to the last drop then pulled out with a woozy stagger. The korreds, lust satiated, stretched and yawned on their way back to the menhirs. They practically fell back into the rock, melding into their stony beds.

The weighted ropes around Gen fell slack at the slumber of their creators. Gen forced her breath into a steady rhythm and tried wriggling again. This time, she inched and writhed free.

Gen crawled up onto her hands and knees. Everything ached, but it was a dull ache, one she could ignore until she’d completed her task. 

Her eyes followed the tangled lines of the ropes. She still couldn’t summon a greatsword like Matveius. Those might come in handy in place of a real weapon. Gen gathered the lengths of rope and coiled them across her chest from shoulder to the opposite end of her ribs.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized during the chaos of her entrapment and rape that these were living ropes. They would only sleep for as long as their feral masters did.


	3. Pony Ride

Gen followed Caigreal down stone steps from the heart of the cliff into the depths of the earth where it rooted. She descended into a vast, natural cavern drowned in darkness--dark or light, it made no difference to her enhanced sight.

The remains of a giant wooden statue, carved to resemble a  
stooped and ancient beldame, laid broken and scattered across  
the floor of the cavern. On its far side opposite the descending stair were a set of massive iron double doors, their faces engraved with a procession of dancing figures. At the top of the doors, the figures were young women in the bloom of youth, but as the parade continued down the doors, the figures aged, turning into pregnant matrons, stooped crones, and finally, at the foot of the doors, into capering skeletons.

Caigreal, now a stooped crone herself, stood before the doors with a steely smile on her withered lips. A great gaping pit torn into the cavern floor stretched between her and Baba Yaga’s Red Rider at the other end. The air above the pit wavered and rippled.

Gen took the coils of rope in hand, swinging a lasso-like loop over her head. “Your move, you rapidly deteriorating witch-bitch.”

“So it is,” rasped the crone, her voice as thin and scratchy as a broom against stone. She closed her eyes.

The rippling air tore apart into curtains around an even deeper darkness. Out of the rift leapt a svathurim. The eight-legged stallion with the upper body of a horned frost giant was eighteen feet tall and sixteen feet long.

“Shit!” 

Gen had one chance to snap the svathurim’s neck before its hooves clattered to the ground. She loosed the loop of her lasso. It sailed true, sinking to the beast’s throat.

But instead of pulling tight, the living rope awakened in her hands. It seized around Gen’s unsuspecting body.

The svathurim’s hooves clattered safely to her side of the pit. The ropes dragged Gen yelping and writhing to the beast’s iron-shoed feet in its constricting coils.

The svathurim pulled Gen’s struggling body aloft by the line around his neck. His liquid black eyes followed the red-suited curves of her breasts, hips, and buttocks. His nostrils flared at the wet, exposed sex between her legs.

He grabbed his trussed captive in both hands and slid her back-to-underbelly between his eight legs. The burning head of the giant’s rising cock prodded against the mouth of her tiny, sloppy anus.

“No! No!” screamed Gen, fighting all the harder.

But the ropes worked against her at every turn. They wrenched her flailing arms behind her back, pinning them uselessly between her and the svathurim’s heated underbelly. They lashed her thrashing legs up against the beast’s flanks and bound her chest with ropes all the way around his muscled girth.

The ropes tightened, squeezing the breath from her lungs in a pathetic squeak, and then wormed her body backward, impaling her anus inch by straining inch on the svarthurim’s stallion cock.

Gen bucked and shuddered, gurgling without space to breathe. The beast’s dick was massive that every inch it claimed of her strained, tearing walls forced them into protesting spasms that wracked every fiber of her constricted body.

Gen huffed and whined for ragged breath like an animal in feral rut around the svathurim’s penetrating dick. When her convulsing body finally swallowed him to the hilt, the head of his cock bulging in her bodysuited belly, he began his pistoning thrusts. 

The first pound sent her anal walls, stretched to taut sheets of sheer nerve, exploding into a cracking thunderstorm of orgasm. Inhuman shrieks pierced from Gen’s flaring nostrils. Clear fluid leaked from every hole in her face and even the wracked lips of her empty cunt. Her anus clamped around the svathurim’s cock with the strength of the dead and the hunger of the dying.

The beast reared and whinnied, kicking his front four hooves at the sucking, fleshy tightness sheathing his turgid cock. Seed exploded into his human mount’s tiny anus. 

Gen’s ass couldn’t hold his cock, much less his sperm. Her belly swelled as though pregnant, her gut simply filled with the svathurim’s burning cum. Her eyes rolled to the back of her skull, her tongue lolling from her mouth in senseless pleasure.

The living ropes loosened their grip. Gen fell from the beast’s underbelly. His seed gushed from between her numb, twitching legs.

The svathurim, his lust sated, galloped back into the rift from whence he’d been summoned. Caigreal the crone, long gone through the iron doors, had left them unlocked in her rapid onset of old age. The Red Rider, however, was currently too far fucked into mindlessness to notice.


	4. The Red Rider Rises

Heat pulsed inside of Gen. Her eyes snapped open, a growl of feral rage in her chest. The Red Rider crawled onto her hands and feet. She ran like an animal on all fours and leaped across the pit to the opposite side.

Gen stood. She cracked her neck from one side of the other and kicked the doors all the way open.

The floor fell away to pure abyss. A ring of towering black basalt menhirs floated in the air. Spiraling runes etched in glowing white covered their stone faces, each of which were painted with fresh blood. 

The bodies of two naked frost giants floated outside the ring tracking tails of blood through the air. Countless skulls, humanoid and animal, shared their orbit.

At the heart of the sacrifices and menhirs floated Caigreal, finally in her true form as the withered corpse of a lich. Glacial blue light glowed from the empty pits of her eye sockets. She smiled as only a lipless undead can smile, permanently.

“You have faced the Trials of Three as Baba Yaga did before us,” crowed the lich. “You are a power in your own right, Red Rider. Forget your mistress. Join me. Join Elvanna. We will pave a new rite upon this world.”

“No,” said Gen, red heat blazing from her battered body. She held her hand out open to her side. A leathery red whip materialized in a blast of seething heat.

Crack! Gen’s whip locked around the lich’s throat. With a mighty roar, she grabbed the handle with both hands and flung Caigreal into the iron door.

The lich’s bones shattered against the iron with a bell-like toll that shook the trial chambers. All the floating sacrifices dropped into the abyss, shrinking to nothing in the darkness. The stones, however, remained, waiting for the next to take Caigreal’s place.

Gen was not here to wait. The whip vanished with a last blast of red heat. Her body cooled as she stalked toward the lich witch’s bones. There among the jagged fragments was a key of bone.

“Gods, that is sooo not funny,” muttered Gen, tucking the skeleton key up her skin-tight sleeve.

Then she, too, vanished, leaving naught behind but the faint scent of cream and honey.


End file.
